A Boy Named Hamish
by penelopegraceful
Summary: John and Sherlock's son Hamish comes home bruised and beaten. His fathers just want to help. Fluff! One Shot!
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Boy Named Hamish

Author: penelopegraceful

Summary: John and Sherlock's son Hamish comes home bruised and beaten. His fathers just want to help, in their own way of course.

Note: Hamish is 12, also this is a perfect universe where Hamish is both Sherlock and John's biological son. I'm very aware that that is not possible, but humor me.

I don't own anything.

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John stood idly in front of the fire-place, book in one hand, tea in the other. Life truly could not get any better for the ex-military doctor. As he stared at the book, he allowed his mind to wander, it was ten years ago today that Sherlock had asked John to marry him. To say that he had been shocked, would have been and understatement. For years the two had gone back and forth over their relationship, and what was to come.

They had a very small ceremony, surrounded only by a few family members and even fewer friends. Of course, Mycroft and Lestrade were in attendance as well as Ms. Hudson. Even Clara had come to support John and her new brother-in-law. It was truly a beautiful day, to start a very beautiful love story.

They both had decided very early on that they wanted a child. So when Hamish came along, he was a very welcome addition to their small family. His chubby cheeks and blond hair, were nothing compared to the electric blue eyes, he had undoubtedly inherited from Sherlock. In an instant the small child stole the hearts of everyone he met.

As Hamish got older, his personality become more pronounced. He was compassionate and brave like John, but witty and incredibly observant like Sherlock. The young boy had truly inherited the best of both his fathers.

-0-

Hamish was twelve now, and had been allowed the to walk home on his own. This was truly remarkable in Hamishs young eyes, he loved to explore and observe his surroundings. The walk home was a simple one, which is probably why his fathers allowed him this simple freedom.

He enjoyed the fresh air, especially since at school he was picked on and bullied regularly by some much older boys. At the beginning of the year he had thought about telling his fathers about the beatings and name calling, but his fathers already treated him as a child, this would probably only worsen that. Hamish wanted desperately for his fathers to look at him as an adult, or at least a young man. He hated the way they babied him constantly. He had actually begun to get angry and lash out at his parents. He knew it wasn't fair to them, but he just felt so trapped and lost in his current predicament.

The boys that taunted him at school had always been careful not to leave any marks that couldn't be hidden with clothing. It was near Christmas, and it seemed that the beatings and bullying had been getting steadily worse as the year wore on.

-0-

It was the day before Christmas break, a day that Hamish had been counting down to for weeks. He had survived his exams, and all the trivial pursuits that were required of him at school. Hamish didn't find school the least bit interesting, in fact he found it dull. He behaved and put up with the insistent badgering by the teachers only because his father had asked him to. For the most part, he truly didn't understand why he had to be there. He could learn everything he needed to know from books at home. Between the teachers, the uninteresting school work and the beatings after school, he truly loathed the establishment. It was his personal hell.

-0-

Hamish was not stupid, everyday for months he was taunted by the same boys afterschool. He knew today would be no different. He had tried different tactics to avoid them, everything from taking different paths home to running as fast as he could, not stopping until he reached his destination. These tactics would always work for a day or so, but they would always find him the next day.

Today he had decided that he would not run, nor would he back down. He knew no one in this world respected him, but he still had something to prove to himself.

As he steadily walked down the empty trail, he could hear them. The cracking of twigs, the musky odor that fill the winter air. They were here, and they wern't far. He had maybe thirty seconds before he knew they would announce themselves. Quickly observing his surroundings, he noticed a thick branch that had been cut from the tree, there were also several large rocks that lined the trail he had been walking on. He was looking for weapons, anything to protect himself. He was going to go down a man.

Like clockwork, the burly ogres emerged from behind Hamish, forming a half circle around the much smaller boy. There was something different about them today, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Hesitantly, Hamish took a step back, cracking a twig as he did.

"Oy, where do you think you're going?"

Of the five boys Oscar was definently the largest and the leader, the other four followed his every move and obeyed his every command like mindless soldiers.

"I'm not afraid of you," Hamish said with a straight back, and chest puffed out.

He knew certain animals puffed out their chest in an attempt to look as big as possible to scare aware their enemies. Perhaps the same logic would work here?

"Ha, you really should not have said that. Boys, it looks like were going to have to show little Hamish here why he _should_ be afraid of us."

Instantly Oscar lunged himself at Hamish, with a ferocity that even shocked his soldiers. There was a sickening crunch as his fist connected with the side of Hamish's head and eye. Obviously he was no longer afraid of leaving marks.

As Hamish instinctively turned his head, he felt the on slot of pain, and could have swore he heard a cracking of bone. As his sight shifted he saw his opening and took it. He swung his much smallet fist into the apes kidney, followed by a hit to the sternum.

Hamish may not know much about fighting, but he knew enough anatomy to know those hits would hurt.

Shocked by the fact that Hamish was actually fighting back, the other four boys watched in awe as their leader fell to the ground. Quickly snapped out of their haze, one of the boys let out a feral growl followed by, "get him!"

Hamish couldn't process what happened next, he felt his arms being pinned behind his head, followed by vicious punches and kicks to his abdomen and chest. He had made it a habit to keep record of the injuries while they were being delivered, so that later when he was patching himself up, he knew what to look for, but it seemed to be a losing fight today. Gradually he began to notice that nothing hurt, and everything seemed to be getting away from him, the lights, the sounds, the pain. Hamish desperately tried to hold on to conscienceness but before he could think another thought everything was dark.

-0-

The sun was setting over the London skyline. The first thing Hamish felt was confusion, he couldn't quite recall where he was or why he had been sleeping, he certainly wasn't in his bed, thats for sure.

Slowly the events crept back into his disheveled mind. Looking down at his wrist watch he noticed the time, he was late. There was no way his fathers were going to notice him not entering the house at this hour. Granted he was only ten minutes late at this point, but he suspected it was going to take him another ten minutes to finish his walk home. The only thing Hamish could process was getting home, any later and the British army would be called to search for him.

Sorely to began to get up, cursing to himself when he put pressure on his arm, everything hurt so much, but his shoulder and head seemed to be the worst. The pain seemed blinding at times but he continued assessing himself. Once vertical, Hamish took off in the direction of 221B Baker Street, praying that no one was home.

-0-

Slowly, he finally made it to front porch of the flat, everything seemed quiet. He could see Ms. Hudson in the deli, idly talking to the new butcher. Everyone knew he fancied her. As he got closer to the home he couldn't help but notice that none of the lights inside the small flat seemed to be on either, that was a very good sign.

Once inside the front door, Hamish breathed a sigh of relief, he only needed to make it up the stairs to his room, then he could rest, and what was better was that his fathers did not even seem to be home. They were probably working a case, or off doing only God knows what. He was so close to freedom he could almost taste it. He tried very hard not to make a noise as he ascended the first stair case, just incase his fathers were home. He bit his lip as he took one step at a time. Hamish was beginning to fear that some of his ribs may be broken, as he found it increasingly harder to breathe. Perhaps it was just exhaustion, mixed with the fear. Fear that his fathers would find out, fear of being treated even more like a baby, and most importantly, fear of not being respected.

It took Hamish close to five minutes to walk up six stairs, as he made it to the half way point, his foot shifted causing an old wood panel to creak.

"Hamish? Is that you?"

Now Hamish truly felt like he couldn't breath, he was busted. There was no way he was getting out of this on. In reality this was no way his fault. True, he had neglected to tell anyone of the beatings but he was the victim here. He shouldn't be feeling like he was in the wrong on this one.

"Yeah Dad, it's me," Hamish said sheepishly. He was worried his voice sounded wrong, a bit high pitched. Hopefully his father wouldn't notice anything.

John thought it was incredibly odd, that his son was choosing to speak to him from behind the door. Granted Hamish was entering his rebellious years, but usually he would come bustling in, to watch Sherlock experiment or find a book. Something is definently wrong.

John immediately dropped the book he was reading set down his tea, walking over to the door that separated the living space from the stairs, his heart dropped in anticipation for what would greet him on the other side of the door.

As he twisted the door knob, John was devastated at the sight of his only child, beaten black and blue. Hamish had a steady trickle of blood, that had started at his forehead and trailed down to his shirt mixing in with all the other stains.

As Hamish waited for for his father to speak, he felt himself sway a bit, as his father stood in front of him.

John reached across Hamish waist to take on a majority of Hamish weight and guided him gently to the sofa that was rear the door.

"SHERLOCK!" John bellowed, fear obviously laced in his voice.

"John, what I was in the middle of ...Oh, Hamish..."

"Sherlock, quickly in the cupboard in the bathroom, get me the first aid kit.

As Sherlock raced out of the room, John continued accessing his son. He was on the verge of calling a bloody ambulance, but he knew if they went to the hospital, someone else would treat his son, and right now he just needed Hamish close.

Hamish's eyes slowly began to close as he felt his fathers hand probing him. He just needed to get away from the pain, if only for a moment.

"Hamish, you must stay wake. I believe you have a head injury. I know you're hurting, but you must keeyour eyes open."

John hated how harsh he sounded, but right now he was in doctor mode, he had to treat his son.

Sherlock raced back in to the tight space with the first aid kit, then took a seat next to Hamish. The poor boy seemed completely out of it. His eyes had a glassy quality to them and his skin seemed flush.

Gently, Sherlock knotted his fingers into Hamishs small bruised hand, for the first in a very long time he prayed everything wold be alright.

Hamish was vaguely aware of his surroundings, he knew he was home, and that his fathers knew he had been beaten, but that was about it. As he felt his arm being lifted, he let out an agonizing yelp, he made no attempt at keeping it in.

Both of his fathers immediately began comforting Hamish. "Shhh... Hamish, we are right here. You are going to be just fine. No need to cry."

Was he crying? Hamish couldn't feel it if he was. Everything seemed to be going black again as he continued to sit on the couch next to his father.

Sherlock seemed attuned to Hamish, and the fact that he was on the brink of passing out. "It's alright Hamish. I'll be right here." As Hamish drifted off into oblivion he felt strangely comforted by his fathers words.

-0-

Broken collar bone, dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs, concussion and various bruising and cuts. Sherlock and John were both astounded at the list of injures their boy had sustained. At this point they didn't bloody care who started the fight or even if it was Hamishs fault. They were going to get the animals that attacked their son.

John lifted the syringe to Hamishs small arm and emptied the contents. He knew there was a risk, since Hamish was concussed, but there was no way he was going to even begin fixing Hamishs wounds without something to at least take the edge off.

The first order of business was the shoulder, carefully they situated Hamish so that he was leaning with his back against Sherlocks chest and John in front of them with a grip on his arm and collar. He knew his boy would probably wake up once he had popped the joint back in.

Popping a shoulder or any joint back in can be incredibly painful, but Hamish had a broken collar bone on top of that.

"Sherlock, once I pop it back in, there is a fairly good chance he will regain conscienceness. You must hold him stil. I fear he may cause more damage if he begins to move to quickly."

Sherlock simplied nodded. He currently did not trust his own voice not to crack or waver.

"1, 2, and a.." A sickening pop echoed through the flat, and as John had said, Hamish shot up from the half laying position he was formally in.

Tears raced down Hamishs red cheek, the pain was bearable, even though his shoulder actually felt much better, but be awaken to your shoulder being popped into place can be scary for even the toughest of men, let alone a twelve year old.

"It's alright Hamish, both of us are here, Daddy is just trying to get you better." With those words, Sherlock hugged Hamish closer into his chest careful not to aggravate the other injuries.

Hamish attempted to calm his breathing and match it to his father. It was difficult at first but eventually he was able to calm down. Staring into his fathers eyes, he worried about answering all their questions. He felt like such a failure.

"Hamish, we don't have to talk about what happened right now, alright? Let's just get you cleaned up and put into bed." For a second Hamish wondered if his father could read minds.

Hamish stared at his father as if there was a tentacle growing out of the middle of his face. Maybe he had imagined his father saying that? That seemed more logical.

The truth was John already had an idea of what had happened. Mycroft had informed both John and Sherlock of the situation earlier in the year, but it had been decided that they would stay out of Hamishs business, unless he specifically asked for help. Sherlock and Mycroft both wanted the boys tortured or at least beaten in revenge, but John thought it was important for Hamish to deal with his own problems, and to know when to ask for help. He never imagined it would go this far.

After John had stitched up the last deep cut that littered Hamishs abused body, John got up to draw Hamish a bath.

Left alone with his son, Sherlock was at a lost of words. In so many ways he felt that he had failed his son, he should have been there to protect Hamish. Unable to speak he mearly held Hamish closer.

-0-

An hour later Hamish was clean and dressed in his pajamas. Instead of feeling babied, Hamish felt loved. John and Sherlock had a talk with Hamish about the importance of seeking help and talking about problems, rather than keeping them to yourself. The small family all agreed that they had things to work on and that none of them were perfect. As the night set on London, Hamish felt more inner peace than he had felt in a long time. Everything was going to be okay.

-0-

Sherlock sat on the couch, when his phone began vibrating, looking at his phone he smiled for the first time that night. Curious John went over and sat in his husbands lap, and wrapped his arms around Sherlocks neck.

"Who was that?" John asked eyeing Sherlock.

"Mycroft." The same smile reappeared on Sherlocks face.

"And what did he say?"

"Those boys won't be bothering Hamish any more."

The End.

I hope you guys enjoyed that, it was just something I had stuck in my head. I'm American, so I'm not 100% on British phrasing. Anyway please review and tell me what you think!

UPDATE: Please stop sending me hate mail. Look this may surprise you but I'm not a doctor. As for the grammar mistakes, I am working on correcting them, but this story doesn't have a beta so I'm doing it myself. I promise I am going over the story to correct any errors I have made, just give me a second.

-penelopegraceful


	2. Chapter 2: Bonus Chapter!

Chapter 2- Bonus Chapter!

I had been thinking of adding another chapter to his story so here it is! I hope you like it!

The next morning, Hamish found himself in his bed, in his favorite pajamas and swaddled in blankets. He refused to open his eyes, and even begin to accept the events of the previous night. But his body had other plans. He let out a low whimper as his shifted on his bed in an attempt to find a comfortable position. As the seconds past the pain continued to escalate, to the point that Hamish felt red in the face, and just wanted to scream. Everything hurt, and there was a horrible throbbing radiating from his shoulder. Tears began to leak from his tightly pinched eyes, and fear began to swell in the pit of his stomach.

"Daaaddddd..." Hamish groaned. He knew his voice was far to quiet for anyone to hear, but he felt the need to do something.

Feeling incredible helpless, Hamish laid in bed shaking and crying, wishing his fathers would come upstairs, and just help him.

-0-

"John, how's Hamish? I was just about to go up and check on him."

"He was sleeping the last time I checked. I'll be up in a second, it's time for a second dose of medication anyway."

Briskly walking up the dark staircase to Hamish's room. Sherlock couldn't help but shake this feeling of uneasiness that had settled in his heart. Last night was scary to say the least.

As Sherlock twisted the knob to Hamish's room, he heard what sounded like muffled crying on the other side.

"Hamish?" "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

As Sherlock got closer to the bed, his eyes widened in dread and fear. Hamish lay half covered and shaking. His skin was covered in sweat and his eyes red from crying.

"Oh God, JOHN!" Sherlock screamed at the top of his lungs for his husband. Hamish was obviously in distress, and needed medical help.

Rushing into the room, John quickly made his way over to the bed and began accessing the situation at hand.

"Hamish, what hurts?" "Please tell Daddy what hurts!" Sherlock didn't mean to sound so frantic, but his heart felt as though it was beating three times as fast.

"Sherlock, quickly please go get my medical bag from the kitchen."

As Sherlock left John placed his palm on Hamish's sweaty brow, trying to offer the boy some comfort.

Hamish cried even harder as John whispered sweet words to Hamish. John knew that the reason Hamish was in so much pain was, because he hadn't had a dosage of pain medication in over six hours, but honestly, he didn't realize Hamish was turning feverish. The fever had burned off the medication too quickly.

As guilt ate away at the good doctor, John continued to whisper to Hamish.

"Shhh... Hamish, Daddy is right here, I'll make you all better. Shhh...Everything is going to be all right."

Soon Hamish's crying turned to soft hiccups, and Sherlock chose that moment to return with the bag of medical supplies.

Knowing exactly what was about to happen. Sherlock gently gently sat Hamish up and placed him in his lap, craddeling the small boy, and distracting him, while John got the materials ready.

John knew that there was a district possibility that Hamish was going to need fluids and antibiotics, and he didn't want to prick the boy more than necessary. He carefully unwrapped the IV and hung it from the frame of Hamish's bed.

Swabbing the crook of Hamish's arm, John cleaned the area and inserted the IV. Hamish's cries became slightly louder as he pushed his face into Sherlock's chest looking for comfort.

Sherlock held Hamish close trying to offer that comfort, and watched as John injected a clear fluid into Hamish's IV, that he could only guess was pain relief. Slowly Hamish's red eyes began to close, and his soft hiccups and cries turned into a soft snore.

Unable to set the sleeping child down, Sherlock continued to hold his child and John watched in awe at the sight.

The End!

Okay I just thought I'd add a little bonus chapter. :) Hope you enjoyed it!

-penelopegraceful


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